To be loved

It's less than a memory now,
That feeling of appreciation, 
Being loved with joy and whimsy.
A memory that might be make believe.
It will be different because I am different,
Coming from a hard place, a strong place.
I haven't learned how to love independently yet,
Not quite. 

I dreamed a dream of times gone by,
Of words already spoken,
Whispers beneath my window.
Fleeting.
The warmth in my bed, 
In my arms,
In my heart.
Incubated.
Open.
Waiting.
For You.

Come back to me